


Waiting For You

by DictionaryWrites



Category: James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond comes home to find a naked Q awaiting him in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting For You

"007, I believe this is entirely unprofessional." Q said this, and then he took a drag from the cigarette held between the two forefingers of his left hand, blowing rings into the air. Bond might have thought it would be to show off, initially, but no, Q was watching the circles too carefully, too clinically - and yes, to prove Bond’s suspicions, he did it again, this time creating two rings that were more circular.

Ever the diligent and meticulous creature, even when smoking, it would seem. After a moment’s pause, Q added, “But I decided I didn’t much give a toss.”

"Didn’t you, now?" Bond removed his blazer, hanging it on the back of the door before pushing it closed. He did not ask how Q knew which hotel room he was staying in, or how Q had gotten into it - he trusted that the brunet had used some nefariously clever and over-complicated fashion of doing so, and that the explanation would take far longer than Bond was interested in listening to it for. 

Q was naked, but for the spectacles perched upon his nose, and even though Bond was tired - and God,  _God_ , he was tired, after reporting for duty once again that morning, after Silva and M’s death and everything else - he could stand staying awake for this. Almost frustratingly, it seemed Q was as youthfully confident as he ever was.

”I didn’t.” Q nodded, and he took a last, slow drag from the fag’s butt before setting it into the ashtray on the bed’s side table, regarding Bond over his glasses in a fashion that would be quantified by most as expectant, by Bond, in this very moment, bloody intoxicating. 

He was as pale a Bond would have imagined, with few scars on his frame, and he was slender with little visible muscle. But then, he wasn’t a field agent - why should he have tons of muscle? The hair he had was scarce, dusting the lower part of his stomach and the upper part of his chest, but it would seem he shaved his legs and his groin, for everything below his waist was as clean and hairless as anything. 

"Shaved for me, did you?" Bond undid his shirt cuffs and started to untie the tie at his neck, watching Q with raised eyebrows.

"I always shave. I don’t like the hair, and I am confident enough in my masculinity that I spare no worry for doing so." He spoke primly and simply, as if all the words he was saying were utterly obvious, and Bond chuckled.

"Would you like a drink, Q?"

"I came here with a specific thing in mind, and I would rather that, thank you. Take off your clothes." And it was an  _imperative_  - here Q was, naked, in Bond’s hotel room, where Bond was old enough to be hi father, and Q was giving him orders. If Bond didn’t find it so amusing he might have thrown the boy out there and then. 

"What if I don’t want to?"

"You want to."

"What if I choose not to all the same?" Q scowled, and Bond could tell from the way his hands shifted that he was making a very conscious effort not to cross his arms over his naked chest. That chest, though… Bond’s eyes lingered on Q’s nipples, small and the same colour as his pink lips. How nice.

But then, the scowl faded, and a clever little smirk appeared on the quartermaster’s face. Q fell on the pillows, tipped his head back, and let his left hand close around his own cock, slowly stroking up its length; he let out a soft moan, and Bond felt his mouth go dry. Oh, that wasn’t fair at  _all_.

"Point taken." Bond said, and he sped himself in throwing his clothes aside and moving forwards. "You are  _charming_.” And then his lips were on Q’s, capturing the pretty noises that were coming from those lovely lips in his own mouth. “Have you always had a thing for older men?”

"Shut  _up_ , Bond.” Q growled, and then he was kissing Bond again, hands in the other’s hair and at the back of his neck. He laughed again, against Q’s lips as he pulled back, reaching to grasp a condom and a bottle of lubricant from the bedside table, but Q slapped his fingers and made him drop the later. “Already taken care of, now  _fuck_  me, damn it.”

"You are demanding, you know that?" Bond teased as he pulled back with the condom, quickly undoing the packet. Q slapped his thigh. There was a flush on his pale cheeks, now, pink under the rims of his glasses, and Bond found himself wondering how hard he worked to keep those cheeks the colour and texture of marble. 

He put a hand up, cupping one of them, and God, they were certainly as  _cold_ as ivory-coloured stone, and he ran a thumb over the skin there. He caught Q’s eyes, and my, weren’t they  _pretty_. 

Bond was quick in rolling on the damn thing, and then he lined himself up and pushed  _forwards_ and  _in_. Q’s reaction was nothing if not gratifying. He let out a gasping, choked noise, eyes going wide and lips parting as he bared his neck for the other man to see, and Bond was not unwilling to take the invitation: he bit at the cream-coloured skin and turned it red with clever teeth.

"You haven’t done this before." Bond said, and Q let out a noise of frustration because Bond wasn’t  _moving_ , he was just  _there_ , sheathed to the very root and actually a little thicker than Q had been prepared for, and it wasn’t fair. 

"I’ve done enough-"

"But you haven’t done this before." Bond nipped at his lips, making Q chase his mouth for a kiss and not rewarding the effort. "You’ve never had a man inside you like this." Q closed his eyes tightly, lips pressing together and jaw tight. 

"If I say please," Q said after a pause. "Will you bugger me already?" 

"Maybe. You ought to try."

“ _Please_.” Q said plaintively, and Bond grinned.

And then he threw Q back on the bed, hands on his shoulders as he began to thrust his hips, deep and rough and fast, and Q let out loud, whining moans of sound as he rolled his hips back for more of the attention, cheeks reddening further, cock bobbing against his own stomach. 

“ _James_ -” He gasped out, and he tried to push free of Bond’s grip to kiss Bond, or bite at his neck, or  _something_ , but he  _couldn’t_ , Goddamn it. 

"How long did it take you to work up the courage for this? Sneaking into my room, preparing yourself - how many fingers did you take?"

"Three." Q managed to get out, but he wasn’t up for teasing back and forth now, couldn’t bare it, could barely achieve the monosyllabic responses he was currently spitting out of clenched teeth: Bond wasn’t slowing his pace.

"Was it good? How long have you thought about this, Q, thought about me  _fucking_  you like this? Do I live up to your expectations?” Q let out a cry as the older man adjusted his pace, trying to grasp at Bond’s hips with one hand and his own cock with the other - a mistake, because Bond grasped both of them and held them above Q’s head, thoroughly preventing him from moving a muscle. 

"I  _hate_  you.” Q grunted, and he closed his eyes, because Bond changed the angle he was thrusting at and God, it was  _good_. 

"And yet here we are." He leaned, catching Q’s lips and reddening them, bruising the pretty pink flesh as best he could manage before pulling back and taking his very fill of the sight before him. "Played with toys, I’m guessing?"

"Dozens."

"As big as me?" Q grinned at him, the expression full of teeth if not of honesty. 

"Bigger." Bond laughed, and Q clenched  _tight_  around him. For the first time, Bond faltered, letting out a soft grunt of noise, smile altering to a look of concentration; a frown that came with an accompanying furrow of his brow. 

Q was left gripping as tightly as he could to Bond with his legs, gripping with his thighs and digging his heels into the backs of Bond’s, and he was gasping, and it was hard to  _breathe_ , but not in a scary way, not in an uncomfortable way.

It was bloody well  _erotic_ , and Q thought he might scream.

"Touch my cock." Q demanded, and Bond did, but he kept his other hand tight on the smaller man’s wrists. His hand was  _quick_ , rapid and dexterous and with a just-perfect grip on Q’s cock, and the brunet took in a gasp, squeezing his eyes tight shirt.

His orgasm was one of efficiency, and he arched, letting out choked little noises as his hips stuttered down against Bond’s. Bond pulled out of him, and he was quick enough in tying off the condom and throwing it into the bin at the side of the room before dropping forward, laying kisses across Q’s stomach.

Q was tired, his thighs aching, and he blinked down at Bond with obvious fatigue. “Mmm, bed time.”

"We are in bed."

"Naptime?"

"It’s ten o’clock at night." Bond sighed at him, laying his chin on Q’s sternum and regarding him with an exasperated grin. "Just because you’re old enough to be my father doesn’t mean I want to be spoken to like a child."

"I wouldn’t dream of it.  _Baby_.”

“ _No_.” Bond laughed, and even Q gave a little quirk of the lips as Bond slid off of him, lying alongside Q and wrapping the sheets around them, a hand on Q’s hip. He gently took Q’s glasses from his face and folded them, setting them on the side table. “You aren’t letting me get up?” Q asked, tone lazy.

"You aren’t going anywhere." Bond purred against his neck, and Q found that he didn’t really mind.

"No." He agreed. "Not until tomorrow morning."

"Six AM shift?"

"The very one." James Bond’s groan was an exhausted one, but he moulded his body against Q’s side, holding him tightly. 

"Fine." He murmured, and he watched Q close his eyes to settle into a long sleep.


End file.
